Presently the man came.
"Excuse me for routing you out at this time of night," said the Harvester, "but it's a case of necessity.

I have an automobile here.
I want you to go to the bank with me, and get me an address from your draft records.

I know the rules, but I want the name of my wife's Chicago physician.

She is delirious, and I must telephone him." The cashier stepped out and closed the door.
"Nine chances out of ten it will be in the vault," he said.
"That leaves one that it won't," answered the Harvester.

"Sometimes I've looked in when passing in the night, and I've noticed that the books are not always put away.